For the Last Time
by The SuperWhoLockian
Summary: After Reichenbach, Sherlock is left depending on his brother to keep him informed and safe. However, when he hears John is moving out of town, Sherlock realises he has to say goodbye to him-one last time.


My brother walks into Speedy's, his coat dripping from the rain. His eyes meet mine, and he walks over to sit across from me.

"So, this has become a habit, meeting here," Mycroft observes.

"I suppose it has, seeing as we've met here several times since my...'death,' " I agree, turning up my collar. John pointed that action out to me. Three years ago.

The waitress comes over to our table. "Good evening, gentlemen. What would you like?" she asks.  
"Two coffees, please," Mycroft says. "Black."  
The waitress nods and strides away.  
"No clever deductions, Sherlock?" Mycroft sounds amused, but there is nothing amusing about it.  
"I am too tired for deductions anymore," I say. This triggers a reaction in my brother. He looks surprised and a bit worried. I am probably imagining it; Mycroft wouldn't care.  
It goes away in an instant. He coughs and says, "I presume you wish to inquire about John's actions."  
I nod. "How has he been?"  
"Three years and it hasn't gotten any better. He still has a job with the police, as an occasional consulting detective. Lestrade often complains that you would do a better job, but John is trying his best."  
So John took over for me. I'm glad to know he is carrying on my work. Yet at the same time, I'm saddened that even my domain, my job, has been taken from me at last.  
"He still lives at the flat, as you know. He's kept everything of yours. He told me he couldn't bear to throw any of it out. Do you know, he seeks comfort and guidance in me? He often calls me or meets me for help. His therapist wasn't doing much, obviously. That woman should never have gotten a degree in the field."  
I close my eyes. It's true. The therapist believed he was haunted by the war, when he actually felt a sense of loss and longing for it. After a while, I noticed his psychological ticks from the war, like his limping and his nervous fist clenching, went away. It's probably back now.  
The waitress brings over the coffees. Mycroft coughs and looks intently at me, searching for any sign of emotion. "As I said, he comes to me for help. He came to me a few weeks ago, with news you may want to hear."  
I raise an eyebrow and sip my coffee. "Go on."  
"John has had a job offer as a doctor."  
"Good for him."  
"Yes, but you see, not all is well. The job is well-paying and very good. It's every doctor's dream job. However, it's, ehmm..."  
"It's what?" I ask. I can barely keep the urgency out of my voice.  
"It's in Scotland. Glasgow, Scotland."  
My heart sinks. I know I cannot follow him. My brother and Molly provide me with financial support. They are the only ones who know my secret, and keep me hidden. If I go to Glasgow to follow John, I will have no one to protect me. Everyone will find out I'm not really dead. But they need to think I am.  
I swallow. "I see."  
Mycroft places his umbrella on the table. "He's decided to take the job."  
"When is he moving out?"  
Mycroft winces slightly. "Tomorrow."  
A bit of rage starts boiling up inside of me. "You couldn't have told me this sooner?"  
"I'm a busy man, Sherlock. I didn't have time."  
I hold my head in my hands. "I have to say goodbye to him."  
"Sherlock, you can't. He needs to think you're dead, or else-"  
"I know what would happen, Mycroft!" I yell, pounding my fist on the table. The silverware clatters loudly in the silence of the other customers. I look around sheepishly and murmur, "Sorry." They shake their heads and go back to their quiet, ordinary lives.  
"I know what happens if he finds out I'm alive. But I have to say goodbye. I wouldn't expect you to understand. I wouldn't expect myself to understand. Yet somehow I do."  
Mycroft nods. "I know."  
I nod too. "So you know I have to see him one last time. Before he's gone."  
My brother is quiet for a moment. Then he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a key. "Here's the key to your old flat," he says, handing it to me. Don't talk to him. You can see him and all, but don't say a word to him. He must not know you were ever there."  
I take the key and stand, leaving some money on the table. "Thank you, Mycroft," I say. I walk out of the building and roam the streets, waiting for nightfall.

I check my watch anxiously. One o'clock in the morning. He's asleep by now.  
I walk back over to the flat. Silently, I turn the key in the lock and step inside.  
It's the same as it ever was. Nothing has changed. It's nice to know John and Mrs. Hudson still care. Although, I know they always will. They're my family.  
I quietly walk up the stairs, being careful not to make any noise. I have a note prepared, dated the day I faked my death so he will think I hid it before. I plan to hide it in a place he may see it. There is a small chance he will know what I feel.  
I slip it into his favourite book, in the plastic cover. He would never leave that book behind.  
I sit on the couch for a moment, taking in the flat I lived in for so long. The flat John and I shared. All of the memories and cases come rushing back to me. I'm filled with nostalgia and regret and yearning and happiness and...  
And love.  
I carefully set the book back down on the table and check my watch again. Half past one. It's time for me to go, but I have to see him, one last time.  
I open the door to his room quietly. He looks so peaceful when he's a sleep. I stand in the doorway a little while longer, watching him. My heart breaks to know I've caused him so much pain.  
We were the best of friends that ever could be. We shared so much together. I wonder if he hates me for putting him through losing a friend.  
"On the first day I met you, I knew everything about you," I whisper, reciting the letter I wrote to him. "It wasn't a trick. I can read you easily, John. We moved in together and started solving cases. You caught on quickly, a fast learner. Remember our very first case? The cabby with a terminal disease? You saved my life then. This was no way to repay you.  
"Then we met Moriarty. He made me jump. Do you know why? He threatened to kill you. I had to jump or his gunmen would have killed you. Moriarty killed himself, so I had no choice. You had to believe I was dead so they would. I am so sorry, my friend. My best friend."  
I start adding more. "Now you have a chance to keep living your life away from my twisted one. You can be free and ordinary and happy. I wish you luck in your endeavours. Goodbye, John. For the last time."  
I close my eyes. John thought I was inhuman, a machine, with no feelings. He couldn't be further from the truth. I'm more human than anyone else. I make mistakes, huge mistakes. I cause pain and destruction wherever I go. I leave my mark on the world, but with a price. I am desperate to be right and clever, and dominant. I seek guidance in my knowledge and counselling in my friends. Is that not human?  
"I love you, John," I whisper at last before closing the door.

With a pair of binoculars, I can see through the windows of the flat the next morning. I see John pick up the book, about to pack it. My yellow envelope slides out. He picks it up with shaking hands, no doubt recognising my handwriting. I watch as he reads it.  
John looks out the window, as if searching for me. I see the tears starting to fall down his face. I wipe away wetness from my own cheeks and look away, for the last time.

The next day, I go back to the flat at night. Mrs. Hudson still resides there. But all traces of John and I are gone. He has taken all the memories, all the love with him.  
I step back out into the street. Now John is gone, too. Like me.  
For the last time.  
I walk solemnly through London's twisting alleyways. It's just me and the city, now.


End file.
